


The Ultimate Goal

by OlkarianPrincess



Series: Season 3 Celebration Ficlets [12]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Ficlet, Post-Season/Series 03, Pretty much nothing but angst sorry, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 09:12:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12032787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlkarianPrincess/pseuds/OlkarianPrincess
Summary: Prompt: Honerva/Zarkon - She loved him more than the project and she knows it needs to stop. But she’s become a prisoner to her own mind. 10,000 years later Zarkon just wants his wife back. He’ll reclaim Voltron and kill those children if he has too.





	The Ultimate Goal

**Author's Note:**

> For @januarycarnation who has amazing prompts
> 
> Finishing up these prompt requests before starting on my GotG Voltron fic :O
> 
> Anyway apparently all I write is angst now.

Zarkon groaned heavily. His hand moved to massage his temples as he sat up - it was a subconscious response to the heavy ache that filled his skull.

_ When did I get so old? _

He rolled his shoulders back, relinquishing the satisfying  _ pop _ that his joints made.

_ Where am I? _

It was obvious that he was in a Galra ship, but he had no memory of going to sleep. The room he found himself in was neither his chamber nor the medical wing. He strained his mind to draw forth his last memories. They were slow to come, following hazy visions of a dream he’d had - of another life. He pushed past the clouded images of an Altean beauty and the soft sound of her laughter and focused on what had caused his slumber. There had been a battle.

“My lord.”

He was pulled from his thoughts.

“Yes,” the low growl wasn’t so much a question as a threat.

“Forgive me,” the Galra soldier stepped forward. He wore the regalia of a general, but his face was masked.

“Identify yourself.”

“I’m your advisor, my lord, do you not remember?” there were hints of...was that pity in his voice? Zarkon did not take well to being pitied.

“Of course I remember,” he’d seen the general before. On many occasion, he’d held personal conferences with the man. “Tell me what I’m doing here.”

“There isn’t much time now, Lady Haggar is on her way and you know how she feels about me...”

Zarkon remembered all too well, but nonetheless he persisted, “I asked you a question.”

The general sighed, “Very well. You battled Voltron in your own beast, but were defeated. You fell into a coma, preserved by Lady Haggar.”

“Voltron,” the word slipped out as though even the mere sound of it could cause fatal wounds.

“My lord, we must discuss-”

Zarkon heard footsteps approaching the chamber.

“Later.”

Zarkon frowned and pushed himself from the cryo pod he’d slept in. His general slipped out from the room just as Haggar arrived.

“My lord, you mustn’t,” she called out, but he ignored her.

The Galra emperor struggled to raise himself to a standing position. Each movement sent fiery bursts of pain throughout his weary muscles. And yet, he stood. Zarkon turned to the woman that had been his wife in a past life.

“What has become of my empire?”

“Lotor.”

Later, after thorough examinations and detailed reports, Zarkon retired to his chamber. It was cold, empty, and lonely. It served as a reminder of everything he’d lost. The emperor paced about the room, contemplating the course of action to take regarding his son. The answer came in the form of a knock.

“I am busy.”

The visitor responded, “It’s me, my lord.”

Zarkon granted his general an audience. They discussed the war and its politics. He had never been a fan of the intricacies of political communication, but he understood its vitality. Eventually, they came upon the subject of Lotor.

“Does she know he’s her son?” Zarkon asked.

“She does not.”

“Does she remember anything?” he knew what the answer would be.

“I'm certain she doesn't. And she won't, until the process can be reversed,” his general reported.

_ A ten-thousand year quest. _

Honerva, Haggar as she was called now, had forgotten, but Zarkon never did. Through the war and bloodshed, through the fall of Altea and the hunt for Voltron, Zarkon never forgot the woman she loved. Upon discovering his new life, he had vowed to bring his wife back from the void. No matter the cost.

“You know what must be done, my lord?” his general questioned.

“Do you doubt me, boy?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. It’s time to finally obtain Voltron.”

The preparations were made immediately. Zarkon was done playing games. He hadn't conquered the universe in search of Voltron only to lose it in a ferocious battle. He hadn't watched his wife suffer only to see her one chance at salvation slip through his grasp. He knew he had to win.

When his glorious moment finally arrived, Zarkon prepared to pilot the new beast that Haggar had designed him. It was a monstrous thing, superior to Voltron in both might and agility. Zarkon grinned. He adjusted his new armor and made his way to the hangar.

“Vrepit sa,” his general saluted.

“Vrepit sa.”

The all too perfect moment of Voltron’s defeat never came, however. Lotor ensured that it never would.

“What are you doing here?” Zarkon growled at the boy that stood between him and his beast.

“Isn’t it obvious, father? I’m here to stop you,” Lotor smiled.

“You’re out of your place, boy,” the emperor spat.

“It is you that is deluded,” Lotor was smiling no longer. He drew his blade.

“Very well,” Zarkon snarled. A fight was inevitable.

Glancing to the side to ensure his general would not intervene, he was satisfied with the confirmation the man gave by stepping back away from the fight. Zarkon drew his own sword and sighed. The fight would have to be quick. And so it was. Lotor was a skilled swordsman, perhaps one of the best in the Galra army, but he was nothing compared to Zarkon. It took exactly three swings of his blade for the emperor to disarm the prince. His son frowned as the point of a blade threatened to pierce his throat, but he did not back down.

“I’m trying to help you, father,” Lotor said firmly, as if the sword was not there and it was instead he that held the power.

“I don’t need your help.”

“Perhaps not, but mother does. Don’t you remember?”

Zarkon paused for a moment, “Of course I do...”

“Then let me help. I’ve found a way.”

“It’s not possible,” the general who’d been watching the battle finally spoke up. “There’s only one way.”

“I want her back, please let me help,” Lotor said.

“The only way is through Voltron,” Zarkon growled. “I’m doing this for a reason. For her.”

“No father, Voltron won’t help anything. I’ve been studying the quintessence. I know how to help her.”

“He’s lying!” the general shouted.

Zarkon sheathed his blade.

“This is the only way, Lotor.”

Lotor shook his head, “No.”

“Yes!” the general roared. “The prince lies!”

Zarkon had had enough. He stepped toward the general and lifted him up into the air by the front of his armor.

“You do not yell at the Galra prince,” he boomed.

“Father?”

Zarkon looked over his shoulder. “What is it?”

“Who are you talking to?” his son questioned.

Zarkon returned his gaze to the general. Finally, he ripped off the man’s helmet. A face he hadn’t seen in years looked at him with a twisted smile. It was his face, Zarkon’s younger self, from years before the war - before Voltron. The only difference were his unholy, glowing yellow eyes.

The emperor spared his son a glance, unsure of what he was seeing. When he looked back at the general, the man was gone.

“Father?” Lotor prodded.

“I don’t-” Zarkon fell to his knees, “I don’t know.”


End file.
